She Crossed The Line
by Lady Awesomepants
Summary: Based on the musical. In a highly unlikely instance, Raoul and the Phantom meet at a bar on Halloween, and discuss the woman who broke both their hearts. One-shot.


**Author's Note**: Basically, I thought up this scene in my head, and loved it because it seemed so unlikely and outrageous and yet very, very tragic. Enjoi.

**Disclaimer: **Obviously, I own absolutely nothing at all.

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**SHE CROSSED THE LINE**

Raoul is very, _very _drunk by the time the Phantom of the Opera staggers into the pub this cold, October evening, bringing the howling breeze in through the door with him as if it is his second party. The candles flicker to his presence as they have all his relatively short life. The air suddenly becomes colder; the environment reacts to his mere presence.

The Phantom is wearing his mask, obviously. He cannot recall being without it when in the eyes of others since Christine Daae unmasked him all those long years ago.

Normally he would have been spotted, but this night he blends in. It is All Hallow's Eve. He has figured out he can exit the opera house on this day and go virtually unnoticed.

The Phantom generally does not like to roam the streets...but sometimes he feels too alone to carry on in that damp, dark hellhole he calls home. He needs to see new people, memorize new faces, make believe new lives.

It is the way he is.

The Phantom's fellow patrons at the pub are either passed out or reading quietly, out of something that must be the remnants of courtesy. He would curl his lip in disgust and bark a harsh laugh at their horrid state of being were he not also just a tad intoxicated.

The Phantom settles himself at the bar, tossing his cape for what must be intended as dramatic flare. In truth, it looks rather egotistical and idiotic, and if any of the patrons occupying the vacinity of the pub were remotely intelligent, they would have laughed.

Nonetheless, the Phantom uses his dramatic flare flamboyantly and props his elbows up on the bar, sighing into his gloved hand. The glove is white and leather, and has molded perfectly to the contour of his hand over the many long years he has owned the thing.

The bartender, a man who is fat and pudgy and has breasts larger than most womens', snorts loudly and scratches his bald head. "May I help you, sir?" he asks. He does not sound eager to help at all.

The Phantom's one visible eyebrow raises. "Dear God, you used proper English," he mumbles, slurring the words subconsciously. "Well done, _Monsieur_."

The bartender blinks several times, not knowing how to respond. "Er...thank you, sir?" he tries.

The Phantom blinks and sighs in disgust. "Alas, you bore me," he says loudly, waving with a gloved hand for no reason in particular.

It may be to add to that whole "dramatic effect" thing.

"I would like a classic red wine," he orders. "Use your best jugement to determine what would suit me. Now be off, or I shall have to hang you."

The bartender nods uncertainly before retreating into the back room to search for a drink to serve his new guest. In reality, he is hiding, shaking his head, and wondering why All Hallow's Eve attracts all the weirdos.

It is at this time that Raoul, who is on his fifth shot of Irish Whiskey, comes to the realization that the Phantom of the Opera is down the row from him.

Without a second thought he draws his sword. He does this purely out of instinct and what should be rage. However, this feeling--a sorry excuse for rage--it is extremely dull, and he almost questions his judgement. After all, he _has_ had five shots...

**No**. **No, no,** **no**, this is_ perfectly_ reasonable.

Raoul stumbles out of his stool, brandishing the blade stupidly while slurring his words. "Ahaha," he grumbles, his voice occasionally switching octaves. "I have not forgotten you just yet, Phantom!" He sways back and forth as he advances in a less-than-mildly-threatening manner.

The Phantom vaguely acknowledges him in terms of gesturing to the seat next to him. "Still an insolent young fool, aren't you?" he chuckles, shaking his head softly. "No wonder_ she_ left you."

Raoul grimmaces. "Fiend," he growls and waves his sword in the air. Of course, he lacks in any coordination by now and slices a huge chuck of the bar instead of the Phantom's masked face.

His opponent clicks his tonuge. "Idiot," he says with the slightest hint of a triumphant smirk.

Raoul's eyes shine at him and he staggers to the seat next to his rival, nearly collapsing onto it. His eyes lock with the Phantom's, which are cloaked in a mysterious shadow.

Or...is that just his immagination?

"How'd you know?" Raoul says with a perfect but sad grin, hoisting himself up with a good deal of effort. Whatever dull rage had been stored in his belly in the first place quickly takes its leave and Raoul feels rather calm.

The bartender comes with the Phantom's drink and pours Raoul another shot. Both men pause from their odd, drunken conversation to poison their bodies further with the alcohol. The Phantom almost spits it out in disgust, but Raoul can barely gather the taste of it anymore.

His tongue feels very large and very dry.

"_She_ told me," the Phantom says softly, answering the question.

Raoul lifts his head, propping his face up in his hand. "_She_ really went to be with you, then?" he scoffs. "In that damned sewer of yours?"

The Phantom takes no action in response of the remark. "Yes," he says instead. "_She_ came to live with me, for a while. After you broke your engagement, _she_ really had nowhere else to go."

"How very sad," Raoul grumbles, not feeling very sad at all.

The Phantom nearly grins. "It is, isn't it?" he agrees. "That _she _only had me to go to?"

"Pathetic," Raoul says, though he is talking more about himself than about Christine. He realizes this and balls his hand into a fist as he glares at his shot glass, no longer looking at the Phantom at all. "She only had the likes of you."

The Phantom does not like the way he addresses him: "_the likes of you_." As if he is some lower life form.

He knows he is far superior to the man in a drunken stupor in front of him, and thinks of cutting him down with some dark insult. However, he keeps his mouth shut to remain...enigmatic.

Raoul turns to look at him, his eyes half-lidded with the urge to pass out this very second. "I didn't break off our engagement," he mutters.

The Phantom raises that eyebrow again. "Pardon me?" he says good-naturedly. The good mood he is in is primarily due to the drink, but is also due to the fact that he sees what Raoul has become.

A pathetic, drunken mess.

_My God,_ he thinks, _how the mighty have fallen_.

"I didn't break the engagement," continues Raoul, pushing some of his usually well-combed hair out of his saddened eyes. "Christine did."

The Phantom presses back a smirk. "Did she really?" he says, pretending he is not interested in the subject. In reality, he is basking in the sweet taste of a twisted revenge.

Raoul sips his drink bitterly. "It was _your_ fault, damn you," he hisses. "She said she couldn't stop hearing that _damned song_ of yours. Said she had made the _wrong choice_, maybe."

The Phantom swirls his wine around in the dirty glass and sighs as he sips from it. "Well, perhaps she did," he says argumentatively.

Raoul slams down his glass. "She _never_ loved you," he roars, his eyes ablaze with rage.

The Phantom glares at him, losing his cool. "She kissed me like she never kissed you," he hisses angrily.

"She felt sorry for you," Raoul mocks. "'Pitiful creature,' she called you. Can't you remember, Phantom? She felt _sorry_ for you."

The Phantom pauses to consider, allowing himself to calm down a bit. He does not like to be angry, really. "Perhaps you're right," he considers. "But then why did she leave you, Raoul? And come to be with me?"

Raoul sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "The hell if I know," he mumbles. "I suppose...you were familiar. Her goddamned Angel of Music."

The Phantom blinks several times and then sips his drink again, sighing. "She left me, too, you know," he confesses. Raoul immediately perks up.

"Really?" he says, not sure if the madman before him is playing a trick.

The Opera Ghost nods sadly. "Yes," he admits. "She left you. Came to me. Left me. Came back to me. And then...she left again." He scratches athis earlobe. "I haven't seen her since then."

Raoul smirks and sighs. "Perhaps she's found a new Opera House, Phantom. With a new Opera Ghost and a new childhood sweetheart to play with."

The Phantom purses his lips. "Perhaps, indeed," he says with the slightest flicker of a smirk. He sighs deeply. "God help those poor souls who she finds."

Raoul raises his eyebrows. "How do you mean?" he questions.

The Phantom massages the visible half of his forehead. "She ruined me more than I was," he confesses. "I gave her everything, and she still...I trusted her with my heart--"

"And she smashed it to pieces," Raoul finishes with a heavy sigh.

The Phantom stares at him for a considerable amount of time, not quite sure if he is completely sane at this particular moment. He then pats him on the shoulder lightly, raising his wine glass. "Cheers, Raoul," he proposes.

Raoul lifts his glass in similar, though sloppier, fashion, and they clink together. "Here's to cold-hearted women," he smirks.

The worst of enemies down their drinks.

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**Closing Note: **God, I am in love with this idea. Hope you liked!


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